


The Speckled Bandit

by Kainoto



Series: The Speckled Bandit [2]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Criminals, Alternate Universe - Police, F/M, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Other ships/characters in future chapters, Rating bound to change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-10
Updated: 2014-02-18
Packaged: 2018-01-11 20:06:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1177364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kainoto/pseuds/Kainoto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean is a detective working for the local police force in the small city of Trost. He has a tendency to be tactless and audacious, with a goal set to catch a criminal, a thief, that has been around for quite some time.</p><p>So he unknowingly moves in with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Sham of a Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Continuation of the short prologue for this.
> 
> There was one Conan Doyle reference in here so I decided to add another.
> 
> I guess I should also warn that there will be spoilers to events from Conan Doyle mysteries in this as well.

It was raining again; this time a steady drizzle that broke through gray skies. The scent of coffee was welcomed to accompany the gloomy day.

Jean tentatively sipped the bitter liquid from his cup, careful not to scald his tongue again. His eyes skimmed over the various papers strewn on the table in front of him, a much less welcome sight than even the incessant rain. Fine print edged along each leaf, reminding him in every sentence that he was utterly fucked.

It was essentially a letter of deportation, except without the fancy type of shit and security that he’d get if it was from a country rather than a measly apartment building.

He’d tried to convince the landlord that it had been his neighbor’s fault and as a law-abiding and, more importantly, law-enforcing citizen, Jean should have been allowed to stay.

Unfortunately, arguments through strains of expletives didn’t fly by her and she had sent both residents out the door. Jean had further cursed his informality.

Captain Levi had heard about the debacle and had merely let Jean off with a warning and some sort of remark to get his hooves out of his shit. The detective had barely been paying attention to his senior while walking out of the office.

Jean groaned, burying his face in his hands, exasperated with himself.

“Ey, Kirschtein,” a familiar voice called out, complemented by a shuffling sound. Jean looked up with a raised eyebrow, eyes landing on the man now sitting in the booth across from him. He put his elbows on the table, laying one arm on top of the other, and leaned forward slightly. “Didn’t see you at work today, detective. What’s up?”

Jean stared at his friend for a moment before shaking his head and looking down at the table. “Nothing, Connie. Just a bit of, uh, residential trouble.”

A paper rustled and the officer looked back up to see his friend’s hands already leafing through the forms. “Shit, dude,” Connie said incredulously, “you’re only now being kicked out of that apartment complex?”

“Fuck off, Baldy,” Jean grumbled, snatching the papers back. He stacked them neatly together again, thumbing over the corners.

Connie wrinkled his nose as his hand shot up to the nearly-absent hair on his head. “Oi, that was a low blow. Might make me forget what I was gonna say about finding you a new place.”

Jean’s amber eyes flicked back to his friend and he raised his eyebrows slightly.

“‘Cause, y’know, I’d rather help out a friend who’s not a complete dick all the time,” the other officer continued, “Like Eren.”

This time the detective scowled, “We both know he’s a bigger dick than any of us.” Jean was met by a dubious glance from his comrade. “A’ight, fine. Sorry. What were you saying about that new place, anyway?”

Connie smirked slightly at the retreat and went on, “Well, one of my friends is moving a pretty short distance. And I mean, he’s found a place but there’s some familial issues going on and he’s short on money. He asked me if I knew a guy and I said I might and he said who and I was like, ‘I’ll ask around’, and so he--”

“Connie, dude, I got it,” Jean interrupted. “You don’t have to explain every fucking interaction in excruciating detail.”

“Okay, okay. Anyway, he’s a nice guy. Honest, really easy to get along with, wouldn’t hurt a fly. Between jobs right now or some shit, I don’t know. It’s one of the only things he’s pretty secretive about. I’m pretty sure it’s ‘cause of the shit going on with his family. Don’t ask him about either of those things.”

The blond nodded while his hand rested in his palm. “You’re acting as if it’s already decided that this guy and I will spend the rest of our lives together. Anyway, thanks for the advice and all. Is there any way that I can contact him?”

“Oh, er, yeah.” Connie reached into his jacket pocket and got out a pencil. He grabbed one of the papers from across the table before Jean could protest and scribbled something in the top corner.

Jean frowned, “Tactless as ever, Springer. You just defaced an important document, way to go.”

Connie slid the paper back to his friend and got up from the booth as he checked his watch. “Don’t worry, I wrote lightly. Now listen man, I gotta bolt; I’m meeting up with Sasha in a bit. See you around, and good luck with the apartment.”

The detective looked at the 10-digit number scraggled in the corner, along with a name.

_Marco Bodt._

The pencil lines were thick and showed up too well on the white sheet.

“Connie, you said you wrote lightly!” Jean called after him, but the shorter man was already out the door with the coffee shop’s entrance bells jingling softly behind him.

 

~*~

 

“Er.. Hello?”

Three rings. Jean had waited for the phone to ring three times while contemplating backing out of the call. He could still get out of it if he wanted to.

“Hey,” he began casually. _Shit._ The chance to hang up and run was out the window. At least it was if he didn’t want to be questioned about it.

“Who is this?” The voice seemed a bit cautious. Jean heard something crinkle and shuffle in the background.

He paused for a moment. “Jean. Jean Kirschtein.” _Fuck. Way to go, smartass. Just give your full name out to people you randomly call without knowing if they’re the right person anyway. You’re supposed to be a policeman, dammit._

Quickly, he added, “Are you Marco Bodt?”

“Yes,” came the slightly less tentative reply. “Should I be under the assumption that you’re friends with Connie Springer?”

“Friends? Friends. Uh. For our purposes I’m gonna say yes.”

Marco chuckled quietly on the other end of the line and the receiver filled the sound with static.

Why had he been hesitant to call him?

“So, you’re looking to share an apartment, am I right?”

“Yeah, yeah. Connie came up to me yesterday and intruded on my space as usual, found out that my landlord is kicking me out ‘cause my piece-of-shit neighbor couldn’t keep his damn mouth closed. Neighbors, man, y’know? Anyway, he told me about you and how it’d be a good opportunity for me to unfuck myself. He didn’t actually say that but it was implied.”

Maybe this was why he didn’t want to call him.

Jean came to the sudden realization that it was incredibly hypocritical of him to cut Connie off when he was describing the details of his and Marco’s conversation.

Also he was being a dick.

_Shut the fuck up, Jean, that’s not how you make a first impression. He’s going to hang up now. Marco Bodt is going to think there’s something wrong with you and he’s going to hang up and won’t even_ consider _letting you room with him…_

“Yeah, he has that… aura. Well hey, now we both might be in luck. I think we should meet in person to discuss this better.”

There was no response for a moment.

“Ah, are you there?”

“Yeah, sorry.” Jean coughed, definitely not for the sake of hiding his sigh of relief. “Okay, that sounds good. When and where?”

“Tomorrow is a Saturday and I’m free all day before, uh, nine I guess. Does three sound good to you? Maybe we can meet at my current residence.”

Jean looked around the nearly empty room, save for boxes. He looked over at the paper sitting on top of one of them, where Connie had scribbled Marco’s number, and sighed, reaching for it. He unhooked his pen from his collar and wrote down the address that Marco gave him.

“Listen, John, was it?”

“Jean.”

“Right, sorry, the connection isn’t the best. I should go. See you tomorrow? Or, meet you, I guess.”

“Yeah, tomorrow.”

The line went dead. Jean hooked his hands around the back of his head and closed his eyes, sighing at the prospect of the day to come. 


	2. Swamp Adders and Realizations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jean is none the wiser of the references.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully these chapters will get longer soon, when I stop being a lazy shit.

The door in front of Jean was decorated with gray and brown on top of chipping white paint; there were more coarse smudges on it than the actual paint job. He carefully lifted his fist to knock on the door of the almost rundown house, looking down at the dark wood beneath his worn sneakers.

_Knock knock knock._

No response. He was in the middle of contemplating whether to try again or assume he got the wrong address when the door suddenly opened.

Jean’s gaze met the resident’s brown eyes and he assessed the man immediately.

Marco Bodt was dressed in a dark red hoodie and some obscure band shirt with a faded logo, as well as worn pants that almost folded past his ankles. His hair was dark, parted in the middle with bangs framing his tan face. A plethora of freckles adorned his cheeks and his features were rounded, softer than Jean’s own.

“Hello,” he greeted with a smile that didn’t hesitate to reach his eyes. His voice was also soft, silkier and lighter than he had sounded through the phone line.

“Uh, hey,” Jean replied, stretching out his hand for formality. “Jean Kirschtein.”

The taller man took his hand and shook it. “Marco Bodt.” He let go and stepped back slightly, opening the door farther while gesturing for Jean to come in.

His guest murmured his gratitude and stepped in, carefully closing the door behind him.

“Sorry about the mess, I’ve been packing and well, it’s never been much of a neat place,” Marco stated sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ve been meaning to brush up or better even move out but I’m not in the situation to do so without help.”

“Well that’s why I’m here. Or, ish.”

The brunet chuckled. “I honestly wasn’t expecting Connie to find someone, he actually mentioned a few other names but I don’t remember anything distinctly French being among them.” He paused, before asking, “Your name _is_ French, right?”

“Yeah, it’s of, uh, Hebrew origin, I think?” Jean scratched the back of his head thoughtfully, “I don’t really know but yeah, my family is French, mostly. There might’ve been some Italian or German mixed in along the line but like hell do I pay attention to that.”

“Can you say anything in French?”

“No.”

“Italian?”

“No.”

“German?”

“Nein.”

Marco let out a small laugh at that. “Clever.”

Jean shrugged his shoulders loosely, but felt a bit of warmness spread through him. Marco motioned to the kitchen, which was easily accessible from the doorway, asking Jean if he wanted coffee, to which he nodded and continued: “Yeah, black please, if it’s not an inconvenience. Anyway, I’m pretty sure my co-worker Eren Jaeger speaks some German; God knows how many time’s he’s cursed me out in his European tongue. Like he couldn’t just up and fucking tell it to me in English, right? He just has to make a whole show of doing something that only confuses me further.”

“Ah, Eren? I think I’ve heard that name before.” Marco was standing with his back to Jean while making use of the few appliances that were set out in the empty kitchen; everything was gone and packed in boxes save for the coffee maker on the built-in counter, refrigerator, and table, as well as a few cups, plates, and silverware. A roll of paper towels sat next to the coffee machine.

Jean trekked into the kitchen hesitantly, leaning back against the counter with his elbows on it and watched the other. “Might as well have, he never shuts up and has this aura around him that gets everyone talkin’.”

Marco chuckled again, before his smile faded slightly. “Wait, you said co-worker?” His eyebrows knitted.

The blond hummed in affirmation and nodded quietly as well. He let his eyes scan the rest of the kitchen and the living room that could be seen through a small window in the wall between them. It was filled with boxes of Marco’s stuff, in the same condition as Jean’s was at his own house, only obviously neater. “Yeah, Connie, Eren, and I all work for the police department. Eren recently got promoted, whoop-de-doo. Been drilling on nonstop about it.”

“Uh huh…” Marco was silent afterwards, his mouth turned down in a slight frown as if reconsidering something.

“Whoa, dude, don’t go around thinkin’ I’ll arrest you for the illegally downloaded movies or porn on your computer or some shit, okay? I’m not that kind of guy.”

“What? I--” Marco turned to him with a mad blush and an almost terrified expression on his face. He stammered hastily, “No, what, no, that’s not what I was thinking, I just--”

Jean held up a hand to stop him, failing at suppressing his smile, “Dude, holy fuck, chill. I’m joking. I mean I’m not ‘cause I really don’t care about the shit you’re into, but I didn’t mean to, you know…”

Pressing his lips together, Marco forced a smile, his cheeks still burning, and nodded at him before turning back to the coffee maker.

 

~*~

 

“So, how’d _you_ meet Connie?”

The question seemed to throw the brunet a bit off guard as he sipped his coffee and he put the cup down a bit too violently, covering his spluttering with his hand. He coughed into his arm and his face was turning slightly red again. Jean was about to get up to help him when the other caught his breath and answered.

“I, uh, he gave me a parking ticket.” Marco coughed one more time before getting up and grabbing the roll of paper towels standing next to the coffee maker and masterfully cleaning up the spill.

“Well that’s a first. I’ve never heard about him giving a shit about minor offenses like that.”

“I don’t think he did. I think he just needed a reason to come over and look badass in front of some girl he was with.”

“Sasha?”

“I guess?” he ran a hand through his hair, making it fall back down with a more voluminous and messy appearance. “I don’t know many of their names.”

“Yeah, they say they don’t have a thing going on but I totally see it. Anyway, Connie’s an okay guy, sometimes. It kind of surprises me that he chose to work in police but it also doesn’t.”

Marco raised a questioning eyebrow.

“Well he’s not smart, y’know?” Jean told him, “But he’s got speed and his reaction time can be killer sometimes, I’ll give him that.”

“Killer?” the brunet scoffed.

“Not so much on uptake though. I like to think that he wouldn’t make a good criminal.”

“And you would?” the tone was borderline disbelieving with a small side of mocking.

Jean furrowed his eyebrows a little, pondering the thought. “I guess so.”

“You’re too impetuous, Jean.”

“Hah?” the interrogative noise came out sounding nasally and almost deviated from the inquisitive nature of the sound. Jean bit his lip self-consciously.

Marco waved his hand in the air carelessly, but went on: “You save lives on impulse. Take them by the same reasoning and you become a psychopath, not a mastermind. Take items by the same reasoning and you become old news. It wouldn’t work for you, simple as that.”

The detective simply stared at him.

“All I’m saying is that you seem like you’re good at your own field. Careful, invisible, _those_ are more important traits to someone who’s trying to hide. No move of a criminal can be ill-considered or they’re hardly one at all, just a dumbass trying to make a dishonest living. It’s almost insulting.”

Jean opened his mouth as if to say something but quickly closed it. He found his eyes meeting Marco’s in a small wave of shock.

“How… do you figure all that?”

Marco shrugged, “Just common sense.”

Jean narrowed his eyes, putting his hands on his hips, “You sound almost irritated by it.”

“Aren’t you? I can tell you that a lot of people who aren’t artists are probably pretty pissed at Kazimir Malevich for getting famous off of inventing suprematism. It’s the same thing.”

“Supremacy? Dude, that’s fucked up--”

Sighing, Marco shook his head, “No, suprematism is an art movement, err, form. Imagine a white square.”

“Okay…”

“On top of a white square.”

“Okay…?”

“That’s it.”

“Oh.”

“It’s simple. Brilliantly stupid and stupidly brilliant. That’s why the attention-seeking law-breakers aren’t all that. They’re bound to get recognized and ridiculed for their antics.”

Jean nodded, “I never really thought about it that way.”

“Yeah, well. You start to ponder strange things when you don’t know where you’re going with your life.”

The detective furrowed his eyebrows, trying to ignore the sour feeling in his stomach. “Are you sure you didn’t take Philosophy in college?”

Marco gave his head a shake again, vaguely meeting Jean’s eyes.

“Criminology?”

A scoff. “I wish.”

“Suprematism, was it?”

A bigger scoff. “Hell no.”

“Fine Arts?”

“And Art History. For like three years, but I… quit. Dropped out.”

Incredulous, Jean exclaimed, “What, why? You seem to know so much about this stuff!”

“It’s not like I wanted to,” Marco offered a small shrug of his shoulders. “Some things happened in the family and finance kind of took a turn towards hell.”

“What happened, though?”

“I’ll tell you later, maybe. Is that cool?”

The blond nodded morosely, knitting his fingers together on the table in front of him. The abandoned coffee stood empty between his interwoven digits and spread palms. He observed the residue at the bottom of the cup as a tense silence stretched between them.

Finally, Jean spoke up, “Well, there’s one good thing that came of this.”

“Hmm?”

“If you’re right about the careless criminals, it means that sketchy bastard thief I’ve been after for a bit will turn up at some point.”

“What, who?”

“The Speckled Bandit, or whatever term he’s coined for himself.”

There was no response, so Jean looked up to find Marco’s head bowed with his eyes fixed on the table and his lip being gnawed by his teeth.

“Did you hear me?”

Marco looked up, a flash of bewilderment in his eyes for a split second. “What? Yeah, I just…” He laughed, although the creases in his cheeks didn’t meet his eyes. “I guess it’s a lot of Conan Doyle references in your life now, huh?”

“Sorry, what?”

The brunet raised his eyebrows, speculating about Jean’s familiarity with literature. “Sir Arthur Conan Doyle? Author of _Sherlock Holmes_? Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of the world-famous consulting detective.”

“Isn’t that a TV show?”

Marco sighed, burying his face in both hands, “Oh my God, Jean. Yes, it is. It’s based on the series.”

“I’m just pulling your chain, Bodt. Bodt? That’s your last name, right?”

Marco leaned an elbow on the table and shifted his head to that arm, cupping his cheek with his left hand. He gave Jean a small nod.

“Anyway, yes, I’ve more-or-less vaguely heard of it. Never read any, though.”

“Well, the first reference being that we’re probably going to move in together, as complete strangers. And then also there’s one case that Sherlock Holmes and Doctor John Watson come across, The Speckled Band. Someone dies and no one knows why, last words being about a speckled band. Turns out it was a venomous snake, a swamp adder. It’s unknown what kind it was in the story though, there was none in real life that was completely akin to it.”

“Oh, so that explains why Captain Levi called the bandit a snake.”

“I’d assume so,” Marco shrugged. “He probably has the same theory, and is more literate than you.”

“Ow, that hurt. That was hurtful. I’m offended.”

Marco laughed quietly, turning his face into his palm again. Jean wondered briefly if he had something against expressing himself openly but quickly banished the thought.

“It’s odd though, how you seem to know so much,” Jean narrowed his eyes in feigned suspiciousness. “Maybe _you’re_ the Speckled Bandit.”

The brunet stopped laughing and turned to look at his guest, eyes a bit widened, alarmed. “What makes you think that?” His voice seemed to waver subtly.

“I think you have the mark.” Jean pushed his empty cup away and leaned across the table, trying to stifle a smirk. “It’s on your face…”

“What?” Marco almost choked, leaning back and away.

“Your face is speckled... It’s the freckles.” He quickly plopped back down in his chair and leaned back. A smirk was splayed across his features and his voice was light with humor as he repeated: “I’m convinced. It’s the freckles, you’re speckled, I gotta throw you in jail now.”

Marco seemed to catch on, smiling softly, getting up, and turning away to put his empty cup in the sink. He laughed quietly, “You’re quite the jokester.”

“And you need to relax, kid, you’re reminding me of Bertholdt. The fact that your hair and complexion is similar doesn’t help. Also you’re like an inch taller than me. Did I mention that it’s fucking annoying? I mean that guy’s like a giant, a sweaty and nervous giant, but--”

“Bertholdt?” he turned back to grab Jean’s coffee cup and throw it in the sink as well.

“Another one of my friends. Well, I say friends loosely. Jaeger is a pain and Springer is an idiot.”

Marco chuckled, his shoulders loosely shaking. “And yet they all sound great.”

“There is a limit to greatness in everything.”

The brunet nodded and turned on the faucet. He began rinsing out the cups and Jean barely heard him over the spray of water.

“I suppose you’re right.”

There was a blurred hint of experience in his voice.


End file.
